


Void Comes Calling (Sympathy for the Scorpion)

by cartoonsdisease



Category: OK K.O.! Let's Be Heroes
Genre: Character Study, Established Relationship, Family, M/M, Marriage, Post-Canon, Self-Doubt, Self-Hatred, [shadowy figure voice] can't help being a gemini!, impotent antagonist throwing a tantrum, self-sabotage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29018352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cartoonsdisease/pseuds/cartoonsdisease
Summary: Post-finale, post voxman apology.Shadowy Figure comes back — without his abilities — and immediately tries to return to his old methods with a new target.You have to deal with it eventually.
Relationships: Lord Boxman/Professor Venomous (OK K.O.! Let's Be Heroes), Lord Boxman/Shadowy Figure (OK K.O.! Let's Be Heroes)
Comments: 65
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A story about trying to make a guy who wanted to destroy the universe be normal, and finding out you can’t actually get rid of your emotional problems by punching them.
> 
> Content notes for first two chapters: 
> 
> -Mention of needles
> 
> -Attempt to administer an injection without prior consent
> 
> -(Mostly euphemistic) discussion of death / murder / suicidal ideation

It was dark when he opened his eyes. The bedroom was still and quiet, as always. And yet, for some reason, Boxman was awake. A glance at the bedside clock confirmed it: it was the middle of the night, well before Boxman’s admittedly early morning routine began. The sheets rustled against each other as he blearily ran his hands over the bed next to him, still half-asleep and not entirely conscious of what he was doing. 

Something was missing. 

...Oh.

The absence of PV's expected gentle weight beside him was a once-familiar feeling he had hoped to forget. 

PV had always liked to stay up later than Boxman. He could still be a bit of a restless sleeper, even now, but the long disappearances that were so common when they lived together at Boxmore had died with Shadowy Figure. If Venomous was wandering at night he could be found at home, where he could be coaxed back to bed, rather than slithering around the plaza and chortling mischievously to himself.

It made him feel a little pathetic, but Boxman had to go looking. Being alone and not knowing where to find PV felt like a blade dangling over his head. The unease had not left him, even all these years later, and he wasn't sure it ever would. He just needed to know for sure everything was alright. Just in case. 

He was grateful that PV always seemed to understand.

He pulled himself upright and slid his legs off the side of the bed, cursing under his breath as he stepped clumsily into his slippers. He wasn’t happy to leave the warmth of the sheets, but there wasn’t any other option. 

The lights were not on in the kitchen. They weren’t on in PV’s office, or in the bathroom. The halls were dark, too – Boxman had opted for using his phone flashlight to see, rather than lighting up the whole house in the middle of the night, and he could only assume PV had done the same. 

There were only so many places he could be. All the evidence suggested he was probably downstairs in the lab. Boxman pressed his lips together in a thin, grim line, and tried not to be annoyed. It takes a special kind of stubbornness to be a workaholic even after you’ve supposedly retired.

He stumbled for a moment over the rumpled corner of a rug in the hall and made a surprised noise. Jeez, maybe he should keep the light pointed at his feet. Why did they even keep a rug here? Talk about a disaster waiting to happen. He should move it in the morning. And come to think of it, didn’t they usually leave a lamp on near the stairs at night? Had the bulb burned out?

A soft shuffling from behind interrupted Boxman’s housekeeping plans. All he had really wanted was to drag PV back to bed, so they could hopefully both get a full night's sleep. If PV was already heading back on his own, it would save Boxman a trip. He smiled fondly, already feeling a little better, and prepared to launch into playful teasing.

A piercing green light cut through the darkness as Boxman turned, brighter than his flashlight, and he reflexively covered his eyes. When he squinted, he could make out that the source was a cylinder filled with some kind of luminescent liquid. The object was held aloft by the distinct black silhouette of a hand, and something else he couldn’t quite see was shifting in the dark. There was a pop like a pen being uncapped, followed by the dangerous gleam of a needle.

Oh, no. Absolutely not.

His assailant moved with confidence, but they were slow, and Boxman sidestepped the jab. They seemed to anticipate his counter, but it didn't help them. Boxman grabbed the figure's wrist on the side holding the needle and twisted, sweeping their feet out from under them at the same time.

The uninvited guest yelped as the syringe dropped to the floor with a clatter. They hung there, just barely upright, from where Boxman held their arm suspended. 

They didn't seem to be doing much. Boxman had honestly expected more resistance than this. The intruder had moved like someone who knew how to fight, but their actual effort had been limp and unimpressive. 

His heart was pounding in his ears. Was this a trap? He didn't sense anyone else in the room. If his captive was trying to break his grip, they weren't doing a very good job of it. Maybe they had been counting on him not seeing their attack. 

Should he be insulted that this person thought they could take him?

It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t waste the opportunity. 

He lowered the figure down to the floor and moved to pin them in place, making sure the syringe was well out of their reach were they to get free.

It soon became clear that he hadn’t needed to worry about it. This person could probably be kept where they were by his body weight alone. Okay. Fantastic. Boxman felt the adrenaline rush start to recede, and he turned his attention now to actually examining his stabby new friend. It was much easier to get a good look, now that they were restrained and his eyes had adjusted to the sickly green light.

Fully clothed in dark fabric, definitely taller than Boxman, thin, not especially muscular – uh.

This was Professor Venomous. It was plain to see, even with a hood over his head. He might as well have been carrying a neon sign announcing it – Boxman knew what PV looked and felt like better than anyone.

He ignored the immediate twinge of panic in his chest and released his grip on one of Venomous’ arms. The hand shot up and feebly attempted to hold Boxman’s arm in place, but he ignored it. He grasped the fabric of the hood and pulled.

Shadowy Figure.

He had guessed, obviously. He had just been hoping it wasn’t true. He wasn't even sure how it was possible.

“You,” he said dully. “Why are you in my house.”

Shadowy laughed. “I live here.”

“No, you don’t,” Boxman growled. “PV lives here. I was under the impression that _you_ were _dead_.”

“So, what, so you jumped to conclusions and somehow it’s my fault?”

Somehow, the condescending tone was even worse than Boxman remembered. 

“I mean,” Shadowy continued, “I guess I could go live somewhere else. But then you’d just be mad that Venomous isn’t around.” He made an extravagant show of looking troubled, pursing his lips. “You’re really making everything more difficult for everybody.”

“I will wring your little neck, you goon,” Boxman hissed.

“Uh huh. Sure you will.” The smug little smile on Shadowy’s face was not a compelling counterargument. If anything, it was encouragement. He pushed himself forward, as if he expected Boxman to move and let him up. 

“I’m serious,” Boxman said flatly, slamming a palm in the centre of Shadowy’s chest and forcing him back down. “Why are you here? What does the injection do?” 

He was doing that blasted laugh again. 

Boxman hadn’t really expected an answer, let alone an honest one. He was thinking aloud. Shadowy being here was bad, to put it lightly, and it was making him nervous. He was dangerous, and Boxman was all by himself.

The more he thought about it, Boxman couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t adding up. He looked Shadowy up and down distrustfully. “Why are you just sitting there instead of trying again?” 

“I don’t know,” Shadowy replied, as amused and infuriatingly opaque as ever. “Why do you think?”

Boxman didn’t have an answer. He hated these games, and he hated how easy it was to get him worked up. He crushed the mounting anxiety back down. _‘You know what,’_ he thought, just a little bit crazed. _‘I’m just going to sit here and do absolutely nothing until he has to make a move.’_

Shadowy tapped a little rhythm on the floor with his fingers. “You don’t have to think about it that hard, Boxman,” he purred. “If you can’t come up with an answer, why don’t you ask for a hint?”

Nope. Sorry, Boxman wasn’t doing this today. He was a brick wall, and this wall didn’t have ears.

“...Sorry,” Shadowy said, sounding perplexed. “What are you doing?” He tried to push himself up, like he had before. “You having some kind of problem? Need some kind of medical attention?” He collapsed back down when his ineffectual wriggling didn’t cause Boxman to budge.

Huh.

Shadowy couldn’t move him? Why couldn’t he move him? He _should_ have been able to move him. He would have been able to move him before.

Oh, man. He couldn’t move him, though.

Boxman steeled himself and fixed Shadowy Figure with his most piercing stare. He leaned in closer, and hoped the grin he could feel growing on his face was appropriately menacing. “You can’t move me,” he said triumphantly. “Because you don’t have powers anymore.”

Shadowy looked like he’d been hit in the face with a water balloon. 

Boxman changed his mind. This was a good day, actually. This was the new highlight of his week. This was a sharp green uptick in his mood tracker chart. He let go of Shadowy’s arms so he could rest his chin on his hands. He wasn’t going to pretend not to be pleased with himself. “Bullseye, huh?”

He watched with no little satisfaction as Shadowy's horror shifted to disappointment, then abruptly disappeared into the mask of indifference. The unhappy downturned mouth had only been there for an instant before he had regained his composure, but it was too late. Boxman was going to win this conversation. 

"What does the injection do, Shadowy?" Boxman asked sweetly. He cupped a hand to the side of his head and leaned in close again. "Don't be shy! I'm all ears."

Shadowy's face was difficult to interpret, but he did seem to be thinking about something. Boxman reached out and pinched his cheek. "I'm not moving until I get an answer, mister."

Shadowy bit him. 

It didn’t get him off the floor, but he seemed more than satisfied with Boxman’s undignified yelp. “I want you to know that I showed great restraint in waiting that long to do that,” he said.

He let Boxman yell at him for a few moments before finally raising a hand in an appeasing gesture. “Listen. It's a protein I harvested from modified avian specimens that were raised on a special glorb derivative.” He waited, making sure Boxman was actually paying attention. “You wouldn't understand the biochemistry involved in the mechanism of action. It's not your field.”

That sounded a lot more like PV talking than expected. Boxman hadn't ever heard Shadowy actually talk about science until now. He had always seemed more interested in destroying things, or setting them on fire.

It wasn’t much of a comfort. He could still feel the tension in his shoulders. When did Shadowy have time to develop this? How long had he been running around performing experiments without anyone noticing?

If Shadowy noticed his reaction, he didn't comment on it before he continued: "It’s to make you stronger."

Boxman stared at him blankly. “...Why?”

"Seriously? Did you even pay attention to my character arc at all?"

“No, you doofus,” Boxman huffed. “Why me?”

Shadowy tilted his head curiously. “Who else?” 

“Yourself?”

“Oh.” Shadowy rolled his eyes. “Why didn’t Venomous use the collar he made for Fink on himself? It didn’t work, obviously.”

“Right, sure, but – what were you hoping would happen?” Boxman raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Do you actually think I want anything at all to do with you? You want to end up fighting me after I’ve been strengthened by your special power ooze, when you can’t even beat me _now_?”

He leaned back and scratched his chin. “It’s just thoughtless. It would make more sense –”

His eyes glazed over as he ran through a mental list of all the plans he could come up with that would be better than this one. There were a lot of them. 

Maybe it was better not to give him any more ideas.

He shifted his attention back to Shadowy. He looked… afraid, almost. Definitely uncomfortable. Embarrassed? Was he that invested in this specific plan? Had Boxman _hurt his feelings?_

...There was no way.

“Shadowy Figure,” he began carefully. “Did you _miss_ me?” 

Shadowy’s mouth twitched. “No,” he replied tersely. He suddenly became very interested in the ceiling.

**_No way._ **

Boxman let out a shocked bark of laughter. 

“You did! You little punk!”

Shadowy schooled his expression back to one of bored neutrality, again. He still wouldn’t look Boxman in the eye.

“A stupid idea,” he said stiffly. “We barely even spoke.” 

“You missed me. You did!” Boxman cackled and put his hands on either side of his head in disbelief. Somehow, everything about this situation kept getting funnier. He was starting to feel delirious. _‘Maybe I’m dreaming.’_

He brought a hand back down so he could wave a finger in Shadowy’s face. “You can’t lie to me, you loser,” he jeered. “I saw that look. You missed me!”

A blotchy purple-grey flush of frustration was creeping up Shadowy’s neck and face. He was clearly trying to get up again, but the weight of Boxman’s body was still keeping him pinned. He exhaled forcefully through his nose. 

Boxman poked Shadowy’s cheek tauntingly, not even stopping to consider that he’d already had his hand bitten just a few minutes ago. “Admit it you coward!”

“Fine,” Shadowy choked out through gritted teeth. _“Stop.”_

His face was twitching again. He twisted his head away like he wanted to sink into the floor and disappear.

“I’m in your husband’s body,” Shadowy said bitterly. “I’m not sure why you’d expect otherwise.” 

Boxman was, in fact, aware of this. It had been, one might say, extremely inconvenient. It had also been true for the entirety of their mutual acquaintance, and yet this was the first time Boxman was hearing about _this_ particular detail. Shadowy had not seemed particularly emotionally attached to Boxman during the months of sneaking around behind his back, nor during the gruelling weeks when he had been – replaced – his partner.

“Do you want an itemized list?” Boxman deadpanned.

Shadowy clenched his fists and pressed them hard against the floor. The leather of his gloves creaked. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” He closed his eyes and breathed heavily. “I wanted to be myself all the time. I thought I’d done it. I didn’t notice at first.”

Boxman watched him carefully. Shadowy kept his eyes screwed shut and grimaced. “It was all wrong,” he growled, raising a fist and slamming it back down again. “He clung to me like a sticky residue that wouldn’t come off.”  
  
Boxman wrinkled his nose. “ _What?_ Ew.” 

Shadowy ignored him. “I had his memories, for the first time. Had them, instead of knowing them. Like they were mine.” His voice wavered.

Boxman mulled that over. “You’re saying... becoming Shadowy Venomous affected you psychologically.”

“Yes.”

“Huh,” Boxman said insightfully.

They sat there in silence. Boxman found himself very aware of the ticking of the clock from the other room. He wasn’t sure what to think. He didn’t know if he should take that admission seriously – or how many mountains of salt to take with it.

Shadowy hummed quietly. “So,” he said, looking back up at Boxman from the corner of his eye. “How about it? You wanna give it a whirl?”

“Whuh– huh?! Are you out of your mind?!”

"I could use it on myself, if you want.” Shadowy spread his hands magnanimously as he spoke. “It won't do anything, but you’ll see it's not poison or anything. I can make more, no problem."

Boxman recoiled so he was sitting fully upright again. "Absolutely not. I trust you about as far as I can throw you."

"You're pretty strong, Boxy,” Shadowy’s mouth curved deviously. "You could probably throw me a lot farther than you think."

Boxman scowled. "Don't you 'Boxy' me, slimeball."

Shadowy tilted his head bashfully and pouted. It was deeply unsettling. "Why not? You make me admit I missed you, but you get mad when I act like it?" 

“I don’t pretend to understand how your horrible little gremlin emotions work, but I do know how you behave,” Boxman muttered.

"C'mon, Boxy. I'm real sorry about that whole thing back at Boxmore.” Shadowy reached up to rest his hands on Boxman’s sides, but he swatted them away. Undeterred, Shadowy continued. “It was a mistake, I know that now. I was putting all my eggs in the wrong basket. We can be together this time!"

All Boxman gave him in response was stony silence.

"I don't even have my powers anymore. What threat am I to you, like this? Look how easily you took me out. You said it yourself, if I'd actually jabbed you, it would have been even easier." Shadowy was still feigning demure embarrassment, but his eyes glinted dangerously. He flashed Boxman a sly grin. "You'll be so strong. It'll be easy to keep me in line.” He was twirling his hair around his finger now. “Teach me a _lesson_."

“Okay!” Boxman leaned away, appalled. “Stop that.” He was mortified. He couldn’t stop his voice from progressively rising in pitch as he went on. “Are you trying to ‘I’ve been a very bad boy’ your way out of almost destroying the universe?”

Shadowy frowned. 

“…I’m not sure I understand the question.”

The audacity of this man.

“You’re serious,” Boxman sputtered. “You genuinely thought this would go well for you.” He laughed again, loud, incredulous, and mean. “You made me think you let your son _murder_ one of our _children!_ ”

Shadowy’s frown deepened. The confusion on his face was evident. “You forgave me.” 

“I forgave _PV_. _You_ were not part of the equation.” Boxman dragged a hand down his face. “And a large part of what I had to forgive him for was making a deal with you!”

“We’re the same person.” It was a statement, but it hung like a question. 

“Oh, sure,” Boxman drawled, not bothering to conceal his disdain. “I’m still not convinced _you_ believe that at all. But fine.” He stood up carefully. After a moment of cold consideration, he offered Shadowy Figure a hand.

“You want to be PV? Then you’re PV.” Shadowy accepted the extended hand suspiciously, and Boxman pulled him to his feet. “I love you, you’ve been forgiven, and you’re back in my life. Congratulations,” he said. Shadowy opened his mouth to speak, but Boxman cut him off. “But right now? You’re doing exactly the thing you had to apologize for in the first place all over again.” 

He shook Shadowy’s hand loose. 

“So leave me alone, until you’ve calmed down enough to treat me like a partner who you respect again.” 

Boxman quickly bent down and grabbed the abandoned syringe from earlier, pocketing it. He retrieved his phone and made to leave, then abruptly snapped back around, pointing a threatening finger in Shadowy’s direction. 

“And stop trying to inject me with weird things you made!” he bellowed, looming with as much hostility as he could muster. He did a furious little jig for good measure. 

Shadowy made a noise like he’d been punched in the gut.

It wasn’t really the response Boxman had expected. This entire confrontation had been strange from start to finish. He was genuinely taken aback. 

The dark flush from earlier was back, and by this point it had overtaken most of Shadowy’s face. He looked furious. He took a step back from Boxman, pulling his hood back up over his head, and Boxman could see that his hands were shaking a little. Shadowy let out a loud sniff and wiped his nose on the back of his glove.

Boxman had legitimately never seen Shadowy Figure like this – ever. Unhappy, sure. Angry, definitely – but not once had he ever seemed vulnerable. Right now, he looked like he might cry.

Had his confidence really hinged entirely on having powers? Is that why he took so long to show up again? 

The last time Boxman had seen him, Shadowy Venomous had been vicious and frightening. The sniveling person in front of him now was just pathetic. 

He’d earned a lot worse than a bruised ego, but seeing it didn’t make Boxman feel good. The stuff earlier had been funny. This just felt… bad.

It was still Venomous’ face, in the end.

Shadowy sniffed again. All at once, with no warning, he folded in on himself. His black cloak stripped away in ribbons, flowing up his back and over his head to reveal the clothes PV had worn to bed underneath.

Boxman leapt forward to catch Venomous as he crumpled to the ground. He was asleep. Well, good. That had been what Boxman wanted before this whole fiasco, wasn’t it? He would rather do literally anything else than have a conversation about this. He hated knowing it would have to happen eventually. 

He reached up and wiped a tear off PV’s cheek with his thumb. 

For now, they were going to bed.


	2. Chapter 2

Venomous sighed as he stirred his coffee, feeling the exhaustion deep in his bones. He knew his hair must look awful. The bun he’d gone to bed with hadn’t lasted the night – apparently for a more sinister reason than he ever would have guessed. 

His entire body hurt. This was always true, but he still noticed it, and it was worse today than usual. He had clearly pulled a muscle in his shoulder and sustained some minor bruising, and he wasn’t enjoying having that on top of the regular aches and pains. He was just glad it wasn’t worse, given Boxman had thought he was being attacked by a stranger in their home. Venomous flexed his ankles, trying to stretch the stiffness in his lower legs away, and winced at the loud crack.

Boxman was hovering by his side, all careful touches and attentive concern. The nervous energy radiating off him was palpable. Before Venomous had woken up, he had made pancake breakfast, unsuccessfully – twice – then given up and ordered delivery instead. It was good, and Venomous was grateful. “Thank you for breakfast, Boxy.” He rubbed his eyes and groaned. “This wasn’t how I was hoping to start my morning.”

Boxman tittered nervously. “Wasn’t how I thought my night would go, either.”

Venomous cringed. He was ashamed, honestly. Maybe he had no way of knowing this would happen, but he felt like he should have done something to prevent it. Boxman had loved him enough to take him back, to still give him his trust after everything that he’d done, and Venomous had betrayed him again.

Boxman reached out, worried, and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

He was too good to him.

Boxman’s storytelling had been meandering, and Venomous had made him stop so he could get his caffeine fix before having to decipher it. He had still heard enough to understand the important part: Shadowy Figure was back, and he had attacked Boxman. 

Apparently with… some kind of chemical? He had launched back into his explanation now, but Venomous was still feeling foggy.

“Double Beat didn’t catch him?”

She huffed from under the table at the sound of her name. Her mechanical claws clicked against the floor as she shuffled, hopeful for the chance that Venomous intended to slip her some pancake.

“Double Beat’s a _very_ good girl, _yes you are,_ but she’s hardly a guard dog,” Boxman pointed out. “And she probably just thought he was you.”

“Do you think she could track down his lair?” Venomous chewed his lip. “Does he... smell any different from me?”

“How should I know that?!” Boxman shifted back and forth from one foot to the other. “I guess we could try.” He shrugged without much enthusiasm. “But I never really trained her for that, either.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Shadowy, um… he said something, when we talked. About picking up some of your feelings when you two were all, uh. Blended.” He fiddled idly with his tie.

“I think he… missed me?” He held his hands up immediately in panic, like he was worried what kind of reaction that statement would get. “Does that sound plausible to you? I know he’s, heh, well.” He growled and made a clawing gesture.

Venomous frowned. He didn’t like the sound of that at all, but not because he couldn’t believe it. “No, I… I think that’s at least partially true. It makes sense.”

He covered his eyes with his hand, feeling horribly exposed. “I have no idea what was going on before… you know. For all I’ve heard about Shadowy Figure, I can believe he didn’t care about anyone but himself. But Shadowy Venomous... I was in there, you know? I wasn’t the one in the driver’s seat, but I remember what it felt like.” He took a shaky breath. “You were important to him.”

When he uncovered his eyes, Boxman was staring at him like he’d turned inside out. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Venomous laughed. It was endearing that he seemed so shocked, considering he had been the one to raise the idea in the first place. “I’m really not.” 

He looked at Boxman with a weary smile. “You don’t need to be unfeeling to be cruel.” He could feel the guilt swelling in his chest. “All you need to betray the people you care about is to care about something else more.”

Boxman was quiet, like he was waiting for Venomous to go on.

“I think…” Venomous wasn’t sure how to begin. “...I think he knew that getting what he wanted wouldn’t be enough to make him happy.”

He didn’t know any of this for certain. All he had was what he could interpret from the chaotic web of disjointed thoughts and feelings he had been exposed to, from a time when he was something else. “That’s why his plan didn’t end with draining everyone’s power. He needed to make sure he couldn’t regret it later.” 

He showed Boxman as he counted out the steps on his fingers. “Shadowy Venomous gets to be the most powerful person on the planet. Shadowy Venomous has his grand hurrah. Shadowy Venomous destroys the universe.”

He spread the fingers on both hands in an imitation of an explosion and made a popping sound with his tongue.

“Vindication. No consequences.”

He took a sip of his coffee. 

“You don’t have to worry about friends or family if they’re already out of the picture. Can’t feel guilty or get bored of ruling the world if you don’t exist.”

He had been waiting for Boxman to interject, expecting it any minute, but he was just sitting there, watching attentively. Venomous sighed.

“He hated having emotional ties, or feelings at all. He wanted them gone.”

He looked down at the table grimly. He wrapped his hands around his mug to warm them. 

He had nothing more to say. 

The silence was oppressively heavy. 

Boxman cleared his throat, apparently finally convinced that Venomous had finished.

“Gonna be honest, PV,” he started, steepling his fingers diplomatically. “I like that a lot less than just thinking there’s some rogue part of you that doesn’t love me.” He giggled uncomfortably. “Because that’s actually extremely scary!” 

“I’m sorry,” Venomous said miserably.

Boxman swatted him playfully on the back. “No,” he chided indignantly. “You don’t apologize for being honest.”

“I’m not. Just… sorry I’m like this.”

Boxman pulled him down and ruffled his hair, both affectionate and admonishing. It felt good. Venomous was a little disappointed when he let him go.

“Listen, PV,” Boxman said.

“There’s actually something else I wanted to talk to you about.” He exhaled, looking conflicted. “I know you have your reasons for avoiding it, and I respect your privacy, but…”

The hair stood up on the back of Venomous’ neck.

Boxman clasped his hands together supplicatingly. “If Shadowy’s actually still around, it seems a lot more important now than it did before, you know?” He smiled sheepishly. “It might help us predict what he’s able to do, or figure out how to deal with him.”

He looked so, so apologetic. He was still going to ask.

“What did you two actually talk about, before he took over?” 

Venomous felt his shoulders seize before he’d even fully processed the question. He crossed his arms protectively over his chest. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

He’d been doing better, really. He was ready to be open about a lot of things. It was already amazing they’d gotten through this much of a conversation about Shadowy Venomous at all. This one was over the line. He couldn't do it.

He felt physically ill. He was suddenly deeply afraid that he was going to throw up during the lovely meal that Boxman had arranged.

Boxman put a soothing hand on his shoulder, and Venomous jumped. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. You don’t have to. I just thought it was worth asking.”

He smiled reassuringly, and Venomous slowly relaxed. He could tell Boxman still wanted to say something, but he didn’t. A strange mix of conflicting emotions passed through him, as he was both relieved to drop the subject and terrified of what Boxman might be assuming. 

At least he’d delayed the conversation. It was future Venomous’ problem now. That idiot could go kick rocks.

Boxman pointed to something behind him. “Your rattle is out.”  
  
“Oh.” Venomous wrapped his tail around the back legs of his chair self-consciously.

“Well, I think it’s cute,” Boxman insisted. “It has charm.”

Venomous sagged in his seat, and Boxman pulled him close into his chest. Venomous buried his face in his shirt and wrapped his arms around him. He could feel Boxman rubbing circles on his back. He was so warm.

_‘I’m the one causing all our problems, and yet **he’s** the one comforting **me**.’_

Venomous tightened his grip and made a choking noise under his breath. “I love you,” he muttered.

“I love you too, PV.”

Venomous’ mouth was so dry. Hearing it made him feel both better and worse. He took some deep breaths until he felt ready to let go.

When he pulled away, a dark purple and black smear cut across the front of Boxman’s dress shirt. “Is that from me?” Venomous was horrified. “Did I sleep in my makeup all night?”

Boxman glanced down. He gave a breezy laugh and a dismissive wave of his hand. “Shadowy had some on, I guess. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“And you just put me to bed _without wiping it off?_ ” Venomous tried to control his volume, but he was already getting louder. 

“Do you have any idea how terrible that can be for your eyes and skin?” He slapped his face impulsively in horror, unintentionally smearing more of the remains onto his hand. “That pillowcase is probably ruined forever! _Boxman!_ ”

“I don’t see how a few smudge stains count as _ruined_. If you flip it over no one will even know.”

Venomous smacked him harmlessly on the chest. “ _I’ll_ know, Boxman!” He reached out with both hands and grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him back into another, more aggressive hug. 

He buried his nose in Boxman’s hair. “You’ve gone too far this time, you scoundrel,” he grumbled petulantly.

Boxman wiggled to loosen Venomous’ grip, then flopped dramatically across his lap. “I’m so sorry, honey.” He draped a limp hand over his face. “Can you ever forgive me?”

“No. Unforgivable.” Venomous brushed Boxman’s hair out of his eyes. “I want a divorce.”

Boxman laughed. Venomous took his hand away and pressed a gentle kiss into his forehead.

“Okay, okay.” Boxman returned the gesture with a quick peck at the corner of Venomous’ mouth. “But can I at least have that last pancake first, if you’re not gonna eat it?”


	3. Chapter 3

The building jutted like an angry tooth. It seemed to tear a hole in the sky, if it could really be called a sky at all.

A real house that looked like this one wouldn’t have been standing. The wood was mouldering and entire sections that should have been supporting the upper levels were missing. It was an animated skeleton, somehow kept alive after there was nothing left to hold it together.

At least a few dozen glorbs were floating lazily through the atmosphere. They bobbed and weaved through the splintered holes in the building’s walls, pooling together in small clusters.

It seemed incredibly pointless, in Venomous’ opinion. They weren’t real glorbs. They served no purpose for Shadowy as a source of power. It was empty posturing.

Venomous didn’t know how or when he’d gotten here. He’d been working, he was fairly sure. Boxman had dropped by and lovingly pestered him about various things for a while. He didn’t remember falling asleep.

Still. It was obvious where he was, and who this place belonged to. He hadn’t seen a building like this in his mind the last time he was there, but Shadowy had had plenty of time to redecorate.

A jagged wrought-iron chair sat elevated at the centre of the building’s sagging balcony. It looked as if someone had torn open a pair of gibbet cages and bent them into a crude parody of a throne. The base was alight with coiling purple flame, seemingly fueled by nothing at all

It was hard to tell by looking if there was even a way to get up there and sit on it, unless you flew. You probably could, in here, although Venomous had never tried it.

The entire thing was grotesque. Villainous, maybe, but who would want to actually _live_ in this kind of lair? There wasn’t even anyone around to be intimidated.

Leave it to Shadowy Figure to see a blank slate where he could build anything he wanted and choose to make it rotten.

Venomous concentrated for a moment. The peeling strips of paint on the outer wall uncurled and reattached themselves, smooth and pristine.

Better.

"You already have a house. Stop messing with mine."

Ah. There he was. 

Hearing his own voice in that stilted cadence gave Venomous the creeps.

They’d been waiting for Shadowy to show himself again for weeks now, but he had been almost conspicuously absent. Boxman swore up and down that he’d caught a glimpse of him, but it hadn’t come to anything.

Until now. 

Venomous crossed his arms. "You brought me here, didn't you? I've certainly no memory of seeking out this place." He laughed, not at all amicably. "Is this what you were doing, all those years you were gone? Making an ugly little world to live in?"

"It's not ugly."

Venomous scoffed. “You live in a derelict pile of death kitsch.” He gestured with both hands to the twisted metal throne. “What even is this, your weird medieval execution chair? Are we a tortured poet now? If I walk in there am I going to find out you sleep in an iron maiden?”

“Okay, one— no. Two? That sounds amazing.” Shadowy sounded absolutely thrilled by the idea. He clicked his tongue reproachingly. “Such a stick in the mud, Venomous. Some of us want more out of life than your soulless modern decor.”

He spread his arms expansively, turning to admire his creation. "Everything looks how I want it to look.” He glanced back at Venomous over his shoulder. “It's just empty." He shrugged. "I can’t fix that. The people are in the real world."

Venomous’ lips pulled back into a contemptuous snarl. "As if you've ever cared about other people."

Shadowy smiled like he’d been told a secret joke at Venomous’ expense. “You’re a real sore winner, aren’t you, PV?” He enunciated each syllable with an unnecessary carefulness that set Venomous’ teeth on edge.

“Don’t call me that.”

“What’s the problem?” Shadowy asked, and Venomous sensed the sharp dig hiding under his silky tone. “You got what you want. We’re doing things your way.”

“You pulling your little secondhand power-trip routine on Boxman is not ‘ _my way_ ’.” He wanted to destroy this repulsive creature. “You have a lot of nerve acting like you get to be part of this relationship.”

He held out an accusing finger. “You spent all your time undoing my work to build a better life, and now that you’ve failed you think you get a piece of the pie?” He swiped his hand sideways in a gesture of emphatic refusal. “Get real.”

He wasn’t planning on a fight, but his claws extended on their own. “Why couldn’t you just _stay gone_? Are you that excited to ruin my life again?”

Shadowy’s demeanour shifted almost instantaneously. He dropped to a wide, low stance, like an animal bracing to strike. “I’m ruining _your_ life?” He bared his teeth. “I only _exist_ because of you.”

Venomous angled his body away and raised his arms defensively.

Shadowy began to circle. “My problems _are_ your problems. If I wasn’t here, you’d just be doing it all yourself instead of getting to foist it off on me.”

“You _need_ me, _Professor_.” He was pointing back now as he pressed forward. “You can’t pretend to be a _decent_ villain if I’m not around to make you look better.” 

Venomous took a step back. 

“I heard you talk to him,” Shadowy lilted, and Venomous could hear his smile. “You lied. You said you’d study my work and you _didn’t_. You threw it out, because you’re scared you’d want to use it if you understood how it worked.”

He gestured back and forth between himself and Venomous a few times in quick succession. “We’re the same, you and I.”

Venomous laughed, a single bitter note. “If you think _being me_ will be a point in your favour, you haven’t been paying attention.” Shadowy had always known his anxieties, but this time Venomous could play too. “Do you love him?” he asked, and Shadowy startled, stopping dead in his tracks.

“Do you want to make him happy?” Venomous lifted his chin defiantly. “Then go away. Stay here in your decomposing little kingdom and leave us alone.” 

He couldn’t actually see the top half of Shadowy’s face, but he could feel the eye contact. He formed each word like a weapon. “There’s not a single person on the planet who wants to see you again.”

There was no slow approach this time. Shadowy was flying at him in an instant, a whirling blur of claws and billowing fabric.

It had been so long since Venomous had fought like this— but it had never actually been like this, had it? The warped dream logic of this place had him feeling off-kilter. He could feel the intense weight of the blows, but it didn’t quite hurt like it should. He lashed out effortlessly with a force beyond anything he could have mustered before, but Shadowy didn’t bat an eye. Wounds appeared and disappeared when he looked away.

Shadowy charged again, barreling right past his target as Venomous dodged. He left deep gouges behind him in the soil as he planted his feet and tried to change direction, but it was too late. Instead, he rammed into the wall with a loud **THUNK**. A few loose shingles shook free from the roof and rained down to the ground.

He peeled himself off and the wall and wobbled, briefly disoriented. Venomous cackled in delight from a few yards away. 

Shadowy lurched forward again to brace one arm against the wood for support. The weathered boards creaked. He growled deep in his chest, pulled his fist back, and bashed it against the wall. Then he did it again, and again. The foundation held, whatever conjured thought holding it in place apparently being stronger than Shadowy's raging. After a few moments of ineffectual banging, he closed his eyes and raised his hand to his temple in concentration. The wall shimmered, and a second later it was in pieces. 

The structure shrieked with the scraping of metal and wood as the adjacent upper level collapsed. The broken edges erupted in violet flame. Shadowy grabbed a fallen piece of shattered wood and lobbed it at the ground near Venomous’ feet. The blackened, rotten pieces crumbled sadly as it bounced away.

Shadowy crouched down and curled into himself, pulling at his hair with both hands. He yelled, a guttural grief-stricken wail. He stayed there on the ground, gasping raggedly with his head in his hands.

Venomous took the opportunity to examine the the house again, now that it had a brand new gaping hole. He noted that the torture throne was conveniently still in place.

He could see some of the interior behind the collapsed facade. It seemed significantly larger than the outside, and looking at it for too long made him dizzy.

He could probably just walk right in. The fire wasn’t real, right? It probably wouldn’t even hurt. It was fine. 

Shadowy snarled violently from where he was kneeling in the muck. It was a visceral, agonized noise. “This is so stupid.”

“Are you done?”

“No.” Shadowy brought both his fists down in front of himself and struck the earth, sending the dust scattering up into the air. His chest heaved. “It’s not fair.” He put his forehead to the ground and laid there, unmoving.

Venomous rolled his eyes. “Tough luck,” he said scornfully.

“I hate you,” Shadowy warbled gloomily into the dirt.

The petty childishness of it actually made Venomous snort. “Join the club.” He had no interest in indulging a monster’s pity-party. He finally managed to pick out the doorway— a thick layer of grime had made it blend in with the rest of the building, but it was there. He might as well explore this place, so long as he was stuck here. Maybe there was a way out.

Venomous picked his way through the wreckage. He could hear Shadowy’s claws scraping in the soil as he wallowed in his sorrow.

The inside of the house was admittedly nicer than the outside, if still a little run down.

He had never been here before, but he still recognized it. It was a patchwork of places he had been, spliced into one organism, repackaged in dark wood and iron and decades of decay. 

Boxmore. The new house. Various labs he had worked in throughout his life. The tunnels under the plaza. The apartment he lived in while earning his degree. It was a surprisingly coherent visual design, considering, but he knew the sources well enough to spot how they had been torn apart and rearranged. He wondered if the decor he couldn’t place was all original, or if some of it was things Shadowy had seen while controlling his body.

He deliberately veered away when he found the stairs leading down to a lower level. It didn’t matter that ninety-nine percent of the time Shadowy was the only person in here— Venomous would bet his entire savings that going down there would lead directly into some kind of torture labyrinth. It just seemed like the thing one did with the basement of a house like this. It was what _he_ would do, and he wasn’t the one making gallows-themed furniture. 

He was sure it was a _very nice_ subconscious mind dungeon, but he must decline. No more psychological torment for Venomous this month, so sorry, we’ve reached our quota.

The main floor, at least, seemed much like a normal house. He felt a flare of anger when he spotted portraits of their family hanging in the living room. When he stumbled across a photo of KO while searching the study, he had to resist the urge to throw the frame across the room.

_‘I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you for real this time, you ghoul.’_

The floorboards creaked from the hall.

There really was no getting rid of Shadowy Figure, was there?

He was a ghastly sight. His eyes were dark and puffy. Tears, makeup, and snot ran down over his chin, and dirt stuck to his cheeks in sections where the wet trails had been pressed into the ground. The muscles of his neck stuck out from the strain of his hideous rictus grin. 

“I don’t have to convince you of anything.” Shadowy casually slipped his hands into the pockets of his coat. “I just have to convince Boxman.” He licked his lips. “You’ll regret not making amends when you had the chance.”

It seemed that he’d had an epiphany, now that he was done making a fool of himself. “You think we’re on even footing?” His eyes danced brightly from their sticky, pigment-streaked sockets. “I’ve always been better than you. Not having powers doesn’t change a thing.” 

The monstrous smile receded, but the one that replaced it was just as vicious, and far more personal. “I’ll find something you can’t give him eventually.” He punctuated the statement with a nasty little laugh. “I’m sure there’s plenty to choose from.”

A chill crawled up Venomous’ spine. “I’m not scared of you. You’re toothless.” His heart was thumping out of his chest. “You’re throwing a tantrum because you know you missed your chance.” 

This time would be different. He said it aloud to make it true— “I’m never giving you the upper hand ever again.”

He forced himself to walk to the doorway and checked Shadowy with his shoulder as he pushed by. He stumbled back without a sound. 

“We’re done here,” Venomous announced. “Show me how to go back to the real world.”

“You’ll be here until you wake up naturally,” Shadowy said hoarsely. “Unless you just want me to put you out again.”

“Is that not what I just said?” 

“No. Out.” He bent unnaturally at the hip like a doll and mimed going to sleep. “Unconscious. Dreaming.”

“... I don’t like that you have control over this. Why — ”

Shadowy held out his hand, closed his fist, and twisted. Venomous’ appearance snapped and recoiled like a rubber band breaking. He began to melt like wax. He liquefied and blackened like ink, then rose and dispersed like coloured dye in a pool of water.

It was beautiful. Shadowy hoped he could remember it well enough to imitate it. He held his fingers up like a frame, considering. A shifting stained glass window, maybe, or a novelty toy on the mantelpiece.

He wondered if he could find a way to recreate something like it in real life, after he fixed his mistake and left this place for good. He wondered if Boxman would think it was pretty, too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewatched the final episode a couple times to nail down the rough timeline of when various things happen, but ultimately it’s vague enough that I’m going to just play fast and loose with it and make whatever assumptions I think are most fun. 
> 
> Content notes for this chapter: Needles, injection - very vaguely described. Light medical body horror?

It was strange to live in a place where clear weather didn’t mean heroes. 

The novelty of it struck Boxman like clockwork every spring, as if he still expected swarms of them to suddenly materialize across the street and start enjoying things.

The only cheerful neighbours they had to put up with now were the birds that twittered boisterously from the trees outside his office window. 

The late morning sun filtered through the half-open blinds, filling the room with thin bands of warm light. They glittered beautifully on the lacquer finish of his desk. Boxman reached back to close the slats and tilted his communicator screen to reduce the glare.

He carefully tweaked some wires in the back of the machine before closing the panel and powering it on. The screen flickered to life, and he was greeted with Ernesto’s friendly face. 

“Lord Boxman! It’s so good to see you!”

His voice crackled through the speakers. Boxman fiddled with the knobs. “Please, Ernesto, there’s no need to be so formal.”

“R-right, of course. Hello, Father.”

Boxman sank cozily into the plush cushions of his chair. He kept the conversation light and easy.

Retired life, am I right? It’s so nice to be able to relax. So much more time for personal projects! Still getting up to plenty of hobbyist villainy, always good fun. Why, just last month they drove a tank through the wall of the DMV for a lark, you know! What a riot!

He and Professor Venomous had both agreed it was probably best to keep quiet about the brooding phantom squatting in their home. They needed more information before they could feel comfortable dropping that bombshell on the kids.

Boxman had been looking forward to this call all week. The business side of Boxmore had never been his primary interest, but he could appreciate Ernesto’s enthusiasm.

He was having a spat with Raymond, or so Boxman was told.

“I’ve asked him for the passwords but he still won’t give them back,” Ernesto blubbered plaintively. “He said I was ‘bad at posting’.” He reached up and clutched his chest in scandalized outrage.

“Maybe he’s right that it shouldn’t be so corporate, but I don’t see why he should be running things.” He looked at Boxman, one giant gooey eye pleading pitifully for support. “He barely even works here anymore! How is that fair?” 

Boxman hummed diplomatically. “Why not ask if Mikayla can do it?” he asked, spinning his pen between his fingers. “People on social media love animals.”

Ernesto’s tears dried up on the spot. “Now there’s an idea!” He frantically scrawled some notes. “I was thinking about nominating Fink, but she already has a lot on her plate. We’re _definitely_ going to be working more with her going forward.” 

His single eye sparkled dreamily. “I didn’t expect the esports sponsorship to bring in much by way of sales, but we’ve had _huge_ success,” he said. “Her promo code has low-end models flying off the shelves!”

He leaned toward the camera conspiratorially. “These younger villains coming up nowadays, they’re very, ‘logged on’.” He made the air quotes with his fingers. “Very ‘plugged in’ to gamer culture.”

Boxman nodded. This meant nothing to him. 

Ernesto, at least, was positively beaming. “It's a great opportunity to diversify our line of products!” He looked like he was barely containing the urge to get up and twirl around his office.

He paused suddenly, making a fist and smacking it down on the palm of his other hand. “Actually, there was something else I wanted to show you!”

Ernesto rifled through his drawers and pulled out a tablet device. He made some quick gestures, and the screen cut to a shot of Lakewood Plaza. 

Well. He had Boxman’s attention.

Boxman watched as the purple warp portal opened and a familiar metal box plummeted from the sky. The camera shook as the container cratered violently in the tarmac. The robot that emerged was small, clearly a child model. Ernesto’s voice continued over the video. “This is Robbie! I designed him myself! The weapon, that’s Sara, she—”

Boxman shrieked. It was earsplitting. The items on his desk rattled. “Grandchildren?!” Boxman gasped. “Ernesto?!”

“Heh, w-well—” 

There was a cacophony of sound as Robbie fired a shot through the bodega window and toppled a display with Gar’s face on it. A moment later the Sara bomb exploded, sending ruptured soda cans flying through the air. Boxman whooped loudly. “Oh!” He slammed his palms on his desk. He didn’t even notice when his mug clattered to the floor. “Oh yes! That’s what I like to see!”

A young employee Boxman didn’t recognize sprinted out of the bodega. Robbie hit them square in the face and sent them hurtling into a tree. Boxman hooted and jumped up to stand on the desk chair. “Yes! _Yes!_ ” He pumped his fists in the air, hollering. “Crush them! Destroy them!”

Ernesto let out a quiet, self-conscious exhalation. “I’m glad you like it, Lord Boxman.”

“This is _perfect,_ Ernesto, yes! This is exactly what I needed!” He stomped exuberantly in place. The upholstery of his chair wheezed sadly.

He leapt to the floor and leaned over to the control panel, quickly punching in the command to save the recording. “I need to go show this to PV!”

“Lord Boxman, I—”

“Love you, bye!”

Boxman hung up on him and shoved the display under his arm.

His lively good mood carried him about a third of the way to the basement before the gloom started to return.

When Boxman had decided to pass Boxmore on to his children, it hadn’t been an entirely selfless decision. He had always intended to do it eventually, of course, but truth be told— he just didn't want to be there anymore. The weight of history always seemed to hang heavier on him than it did on the Boxbots, so the solution had been obvious. Unfortunately, he hadn’t expected the ghost haunting his factory to follow him when he left.

Still— despite Shadowy being the subject of all his worst dreams for almost a decade now, Boxman was honestly taking all this pretty well. The vague dread that had followed him when he didn’t _actually_ believe Shadowy could ever return was superseded by the sharp clarity of a specific, tangible problem to be solved.

PV really seemed to be taking the worst of it, and that was what really stung.

They had been so happy. Surely they’d earned that, by now, after everything? PV had been downright _morbid_ lately, and he handled his pain like a sick cat. 

Boxman wanted to snap his fingers and fix everything. He hated that Venomous felt like he had to hide from Boxman, to lock himself away in his office while he had his crying spells.

It was deeply frustrating, but it would be unfair to get mad at him for it— not to mention counterproductive. 

Boxman had managed to catch sight of Shadowy exactly once in the last couple weeks.

He got away. It never happened again.

He put up some surveillance cameras after that — with PV’s permission, but without him knowing where they would be. They recorded a whole lot of nothing.

He had tried showing Double Beat the syringe almost immediately after that first conversation they had over breakfast, but she just led him right back to Venomous. 

Showing her some of the contents on a rag also proved fruitless— either the drug had too little left in common with the “modified avian specimens” for it to match the odour, or they were being kept too far away for her to catch the scent in the first place. 

Eventually, Boxman had resigned himself to leaving it in Professor Venomous’ hopefully more capable hands for study.

He was trying to stay positive, but even the invigoration of a project could only go so far before wearing thin. He was sick of getting no results, of waiting around and knowing PV was suffering.

He stepped down onto the smooth resin floor of the laboratory and made a beeline for PV’s workspace.

Venomous looked absolutely haggard when he found him. Boxman’s heart ached. At least he still smiled when he realized Boxman was there.

“How’s the progress, big guy?” Boxman asked.

PV snorted.

He had been studying the substance with minimal success for a while now. For whatever reason, he was dead set on analyzing it as much as possible before testing it on any kind of organic matter. It was a bizarrely cautious approach for PV, but clearly Shadowy being back had him rattled.

Boxman reached out and took his gloved hand, rubbing the back of it tenderly. Venomous made a strangled noise and jerked away. “Do _not_ do that.” He crossed his arms. “You don’t want the chemicals I’ve been working with on your skin, Boxman. I’m wearing gloves for a reason.”

Boxman laughed lightheartedly.

Venomous hissed and pulled his goggles up onto his forehead. “I’m serious. Go wash your hands, now.”

“Alright, alright! No need to bite my head off.” He set the communicator down on the counter near Venomous’ notes. “I’ve got something to play for you when I get back.”

Boxman’s hands felt fine — no melting or burning or anything! — but he could humour PV. He’d be thorough, too. He slopped an absolutely excessive amount of soap onto his hands and pointedly lathered for as long as possible. He was the very picture of a man who didn’t need to be yelled at to properly perform basic tasks.

He kept thinking back to that first morning after. PV had looked so tired, then, too. 

Boxman often found himself mulling over all the things he didn’t say during that conversation — the things he was afraid Shadowy might hear from inside Venomous’ head. All he had been able to do was think it with all his might, in the hopes that PV could somehow sense his intent: ‘ _I’m not trying to judge you. I’m **afraid** for you. I want to know what you agreed to for our safety. Did you know he would be the one in control? Did you let him do it? If he was able to just overpower you and lock you away somehow, how do I know he couldn’t do it again? What if he tries to hold you hostage, to make me do what he wants?’_

He still wondered if he shouldn’t have just said it. He couldn’t work up the nerve to just ask now.

He was jarred out of his thoughts by the sound of shattering windows and exploding soft drinks.

“Professor!” he shouted across the lab. “You couldn’t wait five minutes?”

PV was standing very still as he watched the destruction on the monitor, holding his hand up to his mouth. He jumped when Boxman put a still-dripping hand on his shoulder.

“Thanks for taking the gloves off,” Boxman chirped. “Am I allowed to hold your hand now?”

“Not sopping wet like that, you’re not.”

Boxman wiped his hands on his shirt and held the right one out expectantly. Venomous smiled and took it.

“I didn’t even hear you come over,” Venomous said, looking back at the video. “Is that… a new robot?”

Boxman felt like he was about to start vibrating from sheer intensity of emotion. “It sure is.” 

PV hesitated. “...Grandkids?”

Boxman‘s face cracked into a wide grin. “Yeah,” he confirmed proudly. “Ernesto.”

“Wow,” Venomous murmured, and Boxman could hear the wonder in his voice.

He leaned into Boxman affectionately and sighed, practically deflating onto his shoulders.

Boxman wrapped an arm around his waist. “Are you alright?” he asked. “You look really worn out. Maybe you should take a break.”

Venomous pushed his hair back to keep the loose strands out of his face. “Ugh… maybe.” He didn’t sound very enthused. “I’m always worn out.”

“Not like this, you’re not,” Boxman insisted. “Not when you’re taking care of yourself like you should.” He squeezed him a little harder to emphasize his concern. “At least go have a snack and sit down for a while.”

“Mm…”

That response did not inspire confidence that he intended to do it. 

Boxman flung PV over his shoulder and carried him all the way up to the kitchen, with only the bare minimum of protests out of principle.

The rest of the day was largely uneventful. Boxman spent it reading and sketching blueprints — but not before he convinced PV to take a nap. He also made sure to email Ernesto with questions and demand photos.

In the evening, Boxman went to check the camera footage.

He always left the live feeds running on the monitors while he scoured the recordings, just in case, but he could only watch so many screens at one time.

It was a very boring process, fast forwarding through hours of footage and checking every individual instance of movement. Most of it was just Boxman himself walking back and forth, with PV staying put in the lab. He noted that Venomous did walk out of view of the cameras a couple times, but he didn’t pop up anywhere unexpected.

Hmm. That actually looked a little suspicious, after he got up from his nap. Boxman’s pulse spiked. Was this it? Did they actually get him? Were they finally going to see where he goes? Boxman wrote down the timestamp so he could —

He felt the impact before the sting. If you’d asked, he might have guessed someone had just punched him in the shoulder. The searing pain came later, radiating outward from the point of contact.

When realized what was happening, the terror shot right through him. He stood up in panic-stricken daze. Shadowy wasn’t nearly as fast as he used to be, but he had still skipped backwards out of reach by the time Boxman turned around.

Boxman's skin prickled. He suddenly felt very warm. Something was buzzing in his ears.

Whatever Shadowy had made worked fast. He tried to get his bearings so he could make a plan of attack.

There was fire in his skull.

Burning shapes jangled across his vision and left lingering trails of empty nothingness behind them. He heard a series of loud cracks and realized with dawning horror that the wiring in his cyborg parts must be sparking inside his head.

He could see the feathers on his avian arm falling out and piling on the floor.

Was he going to die?

His muscles went rigid. It felt like something was shifting deep in his bones.

Oh, mercy, what had he done to him?

The floor was pulling away even as Boxman crouched down to touch it. He breathed heavily. Everything still sounded tinny and distant. Shadowy was beside him again, presumably rattling off some new smarmy nonsense he couldn’t actually make out. 

Boxman did something that he didn’t understand and couldn’t describe. Light burst from inside him and knocked Shadowy right off his feet.

Shadowy’s reaction to being hurled across the room was, evidently, elation. He shot up to a seated position and howled triumphantly. “Yes!” he crowed. “You’re radiant!”

Boxman just stared down at his hands. Everything looked wrong. He tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

Shadowy whistled appreciatively. “I didn’t think you’d actually get that much larger.”

Oh. Okay. Wow. 

“Why,” Boxman croaked hoarsely.

Shadowy laughed. “Oh, you know.” He didn’t elaborate.

Boxman lurched. His balance was all off. “I told you it was a bad plan. I told you why.” He made a first wobbly attempt to stand up. “Why would you try it again?”

“I didn’t do it right last time,” Shadowy answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He was making his way back in Boxman's direction.

Boxman flexed his fingers experimentally. He was starting to feel a little less disoriented. “So,” he said. “I can only assume you still want to find out how far I can throw you?”

Shadowy laughed, then gasped theatrically. “Oh, Boxy! You’re making me weak in the knees!” He tipped over and tried to swoon into Boxman's arms like the heroine of a romance novel.

Boxman wanted to just move and let him fall so, so badly. He settled for grabbing the back of Shadowy’s cloak with one fist and holding him off the ground, as far away from his body as possible. Shadowy hung awkwardly, like a scruffed cat.

This was probably the best way to restrain him, right? Easily one of the top ten least flirtatious ways to hold another person, if Boxman had to guess.

“Stop being weird,” Boxman said severely. “And explain what on earth you think you’re doing.”

If Shadowy was at all put out by his efforts being thwarted, he didn’t show it. “Once you saw the syringe you didn’t trust me anymore.” He shimmied half-heartedly to test Boxman’s grip. “If you had just let me use it you’d understand, but you weren’t going to. I had to show you.” 

It was a baffling interpretation. Boxman shouldn’t have been disappointed, but he was.

In his weakest moments, he had allowed himself a fantasy— one where he would find Shadowy again, hold him in his arms, and let him cry until a secret, softer, more PV-like personality would shine through. 

He had known it was a silly idea from the start, but he felt especially foolish now. He wanted to kick himself for taking comfort in something so stupid.

Shadowy intended to push his luck to the bitter end. He didn’t want to be like Venomous. He wanted to keep doing what he was doing, ramming up against the wall over and over with the expectation that eventually it would have to either work or just kill him.

Shadowy twisted in the air, looking entirely unbothered by the indignity of his position. “You feel it, don’t you?” he asked. “The raw strength you have.” 

Yes, Boxman felt it. It thundered down on him. On the simplest level, the fact his arm wasn’t getting tired was proof enough.

Shadowy looked like a cat who’d found the butter dish left open. “This is only the beginning,” he said, perfectly at ease. “There’s so much more that you can do now.” He reached out to Boxman. His arms weren’t long enough to close the distance. “I get it now. I didn’t have to break up the family to do what I wanted, back at Boxmore.”

Boxman’s face hardened. 

Shadowy gave up on reaching and shrugged. “I assumed no one but TKO would understand, but I didn’t even try to explain. It never had to be that way.” 

He tried to strike a nonchalant pose, and probably approximated it as best as anyone could while suspended more than a foot off the ground by the back of their shirt. “I don’t need TKO’s power. There’s always more than one way to get what you want.”

Boxman didn’t like that one bit.

Shadowy’s eyes had a ferocious intensity to them now. “The feeling is indescribable, Boxy. I promise.” His forked tongue peeked out through his fangs. “It’ll be better this time. You won’t be stuck at home, you’ll be in the thick of it!”

Boxman wondered if he was imagining the note of desperation. He jolted as a reptilian tail unexpectedly wrapped around his waist. 

“We can rule the world together,” Shadowy said breathlessly. “Boxmax and Shadowy Figure!”

Boxman stared. 

“You made up a _new name_ for me,” he rasped.

He could feel the anger clawing up through his chest and pooling bitterly in his mouth. 

Shadowy was so small. Boxman imagined reaching out and crushing his skull with his hands. ‘ _No,_ ’ he thought. That wasn't what he wanted at all— but he felt like he could do it if he tried.

It was a startlingly violent impulse, even by Boxman’s villainous standards. His entire body was thrumming with a furious energy. He wondered whether he was really hurting that deeply, or if Shadowy’s concoction came with some kind of emotional side effect.

Boxman had no way of knowing if Shadowy really believed what he was saying. He had learned by now that very little of what Shadowy said would ever feel sincere. Even simple statements of fact could sound like lies in his mouth. Honestly, the few times he had actually managed to move or sound like a normal person, it had been even more suspicious.

Whether he was being honest or not, he was reciting the lines of someone who was certain they had finally found the true answer to all their problems. He was like a child proudly sharing a new idea and hoping to be praised for his cleverness.

Boxman had stopped listening a while ago. Disentangling the incomprehensible system of reasoning under which Shadowy operated wouldn't be possible if he kept having to process new information. Shadowy, on the other hand, was still going. It was like an endless reel of quips that would run until he finally got the response he wanted.

“You really had to be there. I—”

“Stop talking,” Boxman growled. It was a command, not a request. “You are going to listen to me.”

He lowered Shadowy to the ground, still keeping him at arm’s length.

Shadowy looked at him with carefully controlled surprise. In an unusually cooperative move, he unwound his tail from Boxman’s waist. He waited expectantly.

Boxman put his head in his hands and let out a deep, long-suffering groan.

“I don’t know what you took from our last conversation, but I’ve been saying exactly what I mean.” Boxman was pleading with him silently to actually absorb the information. “I don’t want to be around someone who does things like this. I will _never_ want to be around someone who treats me this way. Do you understand me?”

Boxman remembered what had happened last time. He remembered the first and only time he’d seen Shadowy Figure show even the barest hint of shame. He couldn’t see any of that sadness or hurt in Shadowy now. It was like looking at a smooth mask, every edge and imperfection sanded down to pristine, meaningless satisfaction.

He wanted to pick and prod and jab until he could break the barrier open and expose the soft, vulnerable thing inside. He wanted to see it again. But that was the worst thing to do, wasn’t it? It was always the worst thing with PV.

The more his defenses were pried open, the tighter the locks would be next time.

“Tell me,” Boxman said. “Will this wear off?”

“Yes."

Boxman had been expecting a lot more work in order to wrangle that answer out of him, but maybe they were getting somewhere after all.

“PV wants to get rid of you,” he said bluntly. “You know that, right? Given you seem to have some kind of access to his memories, I’m sure you do.” His eyes narrowed. “And if it’s just going to be this forever? Getting stabbed randomly every time I turn my back?” He rumbled dangerously, deep in his chest. “Then I can’t say I disagree.”

He let that sink in for a moment before he continued. “...But I’m not sure trying to get rid of you is actually safe, or healthy.”

 _‘Or possible,’_ Boxman thought. That was the most important one, but Shadowy didn’t need to know that. “And I’d like to believe you can do better than this.”

Oh, would he ever like to.

“I want this to be easy. I want to help PV, and I want to help you.” Boxman crossed his arms. “If you insist on making that impossible, I am going to prioritize him over you. Do you know why?” His aura flared again, unintentionally. “Because he’s shown me that he cares about me and how I feel, and _you_ have repeatedly demonstrated the opposite.”

Shadowy didn’t say anything at all. He didn’t move. He just stood there like a mannequin with a plastic smile.

Boxman pinched the bridge of his nose. 

Shadowy didn’t need to show remorse, or even feel it. What they needed was for him to believe it was in his best interest to behave.

“Listen,” Boxman said gently. “How about this.” This was probably the best position for bargaining he would ever get. “You can hang around. No need for sneaking. Talk to me, if you want.” He held up a hand in warning. “But you don’t keep trying to stab me. And you let PV get enough rest to actually function.”

Shadowy was still totally impassive. It was well past the threshold of believable indifference by now, this was deep in creepy territory. Boxman felt like he was trying to communicate with an evil doll in a horror movie.

Boxman sighed. He’d sweeten the pot.

“If you can convince me it’s a good idea, we can try the"— he made a sour face —“ _Boxmax_ thing again.” He flicked his wrist dismissively. “But not until then.”

It was disingenuous, but he didn’t feel bad about it. He wasn’t lying, Shadowy just had _wildly_ distorted ideas about how easy convincing Boxman of things would be in the first place. He was doing it to himself. 

Not that it wouldn’t be entirely justified to lie to him if it kept everyone safe, anyway.

“Okay,” Shadowy said.

Boxman started. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” Shadowy licked his lips. “Okay.”

Boxman tried not to show his hand, but he didn’t have Shadowy’s poker face. He went slack from relief almost immediately.

This was good. This was productive. They could work with this.

Shadowy just kept smiling.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally done wrestling with this monster of a chapter. Goof grief. 
> 
> Previous content notes about suicidal ideation and death apply.

The linen of the bed’s canopy was thick and dark, and it hung like a joyless waterfall. It reached from the top of the iron frame all the way down to the unfinished wooden floorboards, and the tattered fabric edges collected dust where they met.

The house had a number of bedrooms, but this one was his favourite. 

The vanity was massive, a twisted behemoth of polished ebony, and it towered over everything with an uncanny air of malice. The mirror alone was taller than he was, and twice and wide. Shadowy could see his full reflection from where he lay on the still-made bed. He tossed an orange up and down in one hand. 

The bed's headboard had rows of long metal spikes down the front, which he had added just recently. It was unbelievably charming and fun, as any person with _taste_ could tell you.

The design for the blanket— a deep purple brocade, so dark you could mistake it for black at a distance— had been lifted from a ritzy hotel where Venomous had stayed in the early days of his career, on Billiam’s dime, for some dreadfully dull villain’s conference. 

Shadowy had liked the hotel itself quite a bit. Admittedly, he had been significantly more interested in the utility tunnels than the luxury accommodations. Of the actual services for guests, his favourite had been the seemingly endless supply of free fruit, and he had made sure to copy that, too.

Shadowy tossed the orange again. He caught it with both hands, puncturing the skin with his claws. The rind pulled away quickly and easily. He let the pieces fall onto the covers.

They were _yelling_ out there. Real yelling! Serious yelling. There wasn’t usually a lot of that nowadays; how exciting. 

Shadowy snapped his fingers and watched as his own reflection disappeared. The surface of the mirror went oily and viscous, then settled, and cleared to an image of Boxman’s face. He was back to his normal size. He looked very red.

“I can’t believe you’d do something like this,” Venomous’ voice boomed as the conversation began piping into the room. 

“What was I supposed to do, PV?” Boxman was puffed up to his full height, chest out, standing his ground. “Kill him? He’s you! It’s your body!”

“Maybe start by _not_ making promises to go along with his plans? Are you serious?” 

Shadowy wished he could see Venomous’ face. The hiss in his voice was so pronounced; he really must have been a sight!

“I didn’t promise _anything_ ,” Boxman insisted. “We’re in the exact same situation we were in before, but now he has a reason _not_ to cause problems. That’s _good._ ”

“You’re _encouraging_ him,” Venomous snarled. He sounded livid. “Do you honestly believe he’ll stick to his word?” The briefest glimpse of a purple tail whipped through his peripheral vision. “Give him an inch and he’ll take a mile, Boxman.”

“Jealous,” Shadowy taunted the screen. “Scared you’ll have to share your toys.”

Venomous brushed some fallen strands of hair out of his eyes. “Look,” he said firmly, “I know what happens when you deal with Shadowy Figure.” His rattle sounded, and a clawed hand peeked into the frame as he pointed. “You asked what he said to me, that time? Before Shadowy Venomous happened? Because I can tell you.”

Oh? 

“It’s not particularly different from anything we already talked about, anyway. He was just _cruel_ , about me and about you. And he lied.”

Ah. Of course. 

Vague. Glossing over anything that might make him look bad.   
  


> _It had been a very long time since they had last talked like this. Only one of them even remembered it._
> 
> _‘That conversation with Silverspark certainly was interesting,’ Shadowy observed._
> 
> _‘I’m sorry?’_
> 
> _‘Mentioning fatherhood as a motivation?’ Shadowy continued. ‘As if Laserblast had even an inkling of that being on the table? As if you were mature enough at that age to have any concept of long-term relationships?’ He smiled meaningfully. ‘Why, it’s almost as if you weren’t talking about back then at all, were you?’_
> 
> _‘What is this?’ Venomous wrinkled his brow. ‘Why are you monologuing at me?’_
> 
> _‘Does wealth really make you feel powerful, Professor? Or was it just the best you could get, after what you did to yourself?’_
> 
> _He was right, obviously. It was satisfying to say. It was painful to hear. It wasn’t relevant to the situation._
> 
> _Shadowy chuckled quietly. ‘Everything changes when you realize the things you’d given up on are possible after all, doesn’t it?’_

  
Shadowy’s fingers spasmed. He hissed as the section of orange he was holding burst from the pressure and sent juice spattering in multiple directions.  
  


> _‘All that effort coming to terms with what you can’t change, and suddenly you realize you’ve just been settling all along.’_

  
He didn’t like that he remembered this conversation from both perspectives at once. It was grossing him out. 

He shoved the tortured orange slice into his mouth so it would stop dripping everywhere.  
  


> _‘Yeah, yeah. I get it.’ Venomous was getting annoyed. ‘Look, I told you what I want. Are you just going to psychoanalyze me all day?’ He squinted suspiciously. ‘Are you interested or not?’_
> 
> _Shadowy paused._
> 
> _‘...Yeah,” he said. ‘I can give you this.’ He grinned. ‘I can help you be this powerful all the time.’_
> 
> _Venomous’ eyes bulged. ‘Wh— Really?’ He held out both hands and stepped forward, as if to grab Shadowy by the shoulders. ‘How? How do I…’_
> 
> _Shadowy held out his arm to motion him back. ‘Just sit back and relax.’ He lowered the arm slightly and turned his hand to offer a shake. ‘I’ll make it so you’ll never have to feel helpless ever again.’_

  
Shadowy gave up on trying to drink the droplets of orange juice before they rolled down his arm. He thought them out of existence.

At least the memories lined up, for the most part. He had received Venomous’ perspective of this conversation almost immediately after it happened, so there hadn’t been much time for them to drift. When Venomous’ version of a shared memory was noticeably different, sometimes it made him feel sick.  
  


> _It had been quick. Shadowy took great pleasure in the weight of the cage as he brought it crashing down over Venomous’ head. The metal bars sunk into the previously shapeless void as it became solid under Venomous’ feet._
> 
> _‘Too easy.’_
> 
> _‘What…?’ Venomous grabbed the bars, bewildered._
> 
> _Shadowy giggled impishly. ‘I cannot **believe** that I went to the trouble of planning that **whole** spiel, and you just went ahead and asked first.’ He covered his mouth with his hand. ‘Glad I still ran through it, just for the look on your face.’ _
> 
> _He resumed the second half of his speech and hoped Venomous wouldn't be too flabbergasted to appreciate it. ‘You do love to believe your selfish desires are actually good for other people, don’t you?’ He reached through the bars and booped Venomous’ nose. ‘Only the people you already like, of course.’_
> 
> _‘That’s exactly why you’re weak,’ Shadowy sneered. ‘Always stringing other people along because playing pretend is easier than admitting what you really want.’ He watched Venomous’ face carefully. He was still speechless, his gaze jumping erratically back and forth as he tried to process what was happening. ‘Can’t commit to anything, can you?’_
> 
> _Shadowy laughed. ‘Here, I’ll even help you out with this one!’ He laced his fingers together and gleefully held his clasped hands up to his cheek. ‘ **Boxy** will be better off without you, just like Sparks was.’ _
> 
> _He wanted him to be crushed, utterly. He wanted something back for the years of living in the shadow of this bumbling moron, being subjected to his pointless existence._
> 
> _‘The reward for trusting you is always the same,’ Shadowy said darkly. ‘I’ll make sure to show him exactly where this was always going.’_
> 
> _‘What?’ Venomous croaked._
> 
> _‘You had the right idea, in the end, even if you never understood why. They’re always grateful to be rid of you once they realize what you really are.’_
> 
> _Venomous’ panic hit his entire body like a truck. ‘Wait, I— Please—’_
> 
> _‘No need to run away this time. I’ll save you the trouble.’ Shadowy held out his arm again with a sinister leer. ‘You’ll get what I promised when it’s over.’_
> 
> _The cage tipped backwards and he was falling. He was shining in his triumph. His heart was soaring and singing with terrible joy and he couldn’t believe he had finally, finally gotten this far and it was real. He was plunging into cold black water and watching Shadowy’s face disappear as he went under._
> 
> _The water was not water and he could still breathe but he was still sinking into the seemingly endless space that was not a space and it was opaque and Shadowy was gone. He was going to be free and the relief of that was like nothing he had known before and he was going to bring unspeakable vengeance down upon this world._
> 
> _They would see him and know him and speak his name and fear him. Finally there would be someone who wanted what he wanted, understood on a fundamental level what he needed, and he would have it._
> 
> _There were formless shapes, nothing-somethings shifting in the darkness around his cage, and he couldn’t make out what they were and it was almost a relief, because he knew they must be terrible and he didn’t want to see. But not seeing didn’t make them go away and they were there, and maybe not knowing was worse._
> 
> _I take it back, I didn’t want it that badly. I’m so stupid. Why did I do that? I will be vile and unforgivable and it will be worth it._
> 
> _I will take everything I deserve that I was not given and then I will take more and I will waste it because I never wanted to be here. Please don’t hurt him, I didn’t mean it, I take it back. Just because I deserve it doesn’t mean they deserve it._
> 
> _I will prove I was here and you will all know it before you are gone and then there will be no one left to remember, and if anyone could have survived long enough to see the end they would thank me. Where am I? KO? Fink? I’m sorry._
> 
> _This is what I have always wanted and this will fix it and it had to be this way. I’m so sorry._
> 
> **_What is this?_ **

  
Shadowy’s teeth chattered. It felt like there was a hand around his throat. 

It all would have been so much simpler if it had just worked out.

The orange rolled sadly across the floor, picking up lint. Shadowy realized quite suddenly that he had gotten too caught up in the memory to actually listen to how Venomous had retold it. What a shame.

He could feel it when Venomous shivered.

“He _wanted_ to hurt you, Boxman. Specifically, deliberately. None of that was accidental.” Venomous made a quiet noise of frustration. “Why do you feel bad for him?”

 _Did_ Boxman feel bad for him? What a bizarre thought. He did seem to be at a loss for words. Aside from that, his expression told Shadowy nothing.

Venomous sighed. The perspective shifted as he walked over and collapsed onto the sofa. “I talked to him. In my head.” He laughed bitterly. “Again, I mean.”

“What?” Boxman’s pitch was high in alarm. “When?”

“Just… like a week ago, I guess, I don’t know.” The mirror went dark as Venomous closed his eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Shadowy could hear Boxman’s footsteps as he approached.

Venomous’ eyes snapped back open. “I don’t know! I don’t know.” He growled in frustration. “For all I knew, it could have just been a dream. And I was afraid. He... ” He looked down and shakily grabbed his arm. “I’m pretty sure he threatened me?”

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Shadowy said loudly. He rolled over onto his back in disgust.

Venomous’ voice shook. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”

“Now tell him what you did with the protein he gave you, coward,” Shadowy jeered. He put his hands behind his head and crossed his legs. “You won’t.”

“Aw, PV…” Boxman’s voice went warm and soppy. Shadowy gagged at the sentimentality. “I know you’re scared. I’m scared too! But we’ve got this. I promise.”

Boxman pulled Venomous into a hug. The view was a shifting blur of feathers, hair and skin. 

“Boooo,” Shadowy heckled, tossing a pillow at the image. It went dark and returned to being a mirror. 

He was bored of this. It was still true, even if plans had changed: Venomous was spineless. 

Shadowy didn’t care about being selfish. He had always been selfish. If he couldn’t free himself from unwanted desires, he would treat them like any other goal. He didn’t need to build a tortured rationalization to make it palatable— not to himself, at any rate. 

He stood up, seething, and kicked over the chair next to the vanity. 

What an insulting hand life had dealt him. The world was a never-ending joke at his expense.

Venomous couldn’t just disappear like he was supposed to, _no_ , he had to go and leave his disgusting fingerprints all over Shadowy’s sense of self. Even if Shadowy somehow found a way to destroy him for good, the stains might never come out. 

He’d considered just killing them both. He could think of a lot of ways to do it. It would be easy.

It wasn’t good enough. It was _losing_. 

What legacy would he leave behind? A sad little note? A broken family? He wouldn’t even get the satisfaction of Venomous realizing he was going to die.

He wasn’t going to give anyone that admission of defeat. He had built and rebuilt his personhood for new circumstances many times already. He could do it again.  
  


* * *

In his earliest memories, he wasn’t himself. He was indistinct, barely conscious at all. The things that would be him and the things that would not moved through each other freely. 

In time, while the things that would be Venomous became a person, Shadowy lagged behind. He was an incoherent snarl that could not articulate itself, and the other things no longer recognized him. 

He considered the manifestation of their powers to be his birth, even if he had technically existed before. He felt the rejection as he was pushed away and out of place, and the absence gave him shape. He had no names for the things he felt, but he knew and named himself, and with selfhood and identity came purpose.

He was different then. He supposed everyone grew to be unlike they were when they were young, even things like himself. 

He was always a shy, suspicious child. The outside world was hostile and threatening— he was only ever pulled from the safety of their mind when there was something to be upset about.

Their parents didn’t like him. He knew they didn’t, and the feeling was mutual. They were always angry he wasn’t acting like they thought he should. 

It was a losing game: the child that would be Venomous was outgoing and gregarious, always eager to please adults and other children alike. Shadowy would never be able live up to that, even if he tried. He was difficult and sullen and he liked it that way.

They both went by the name they had been given in public, but neither of them used it while in the privacy of their own mind. It was their little secret.

Unfortunately, it was only a matter of time until the scrutiny of authority figures became too intense. No one thought much of a young child with capricious moods and an imaginary friend, but a pre-teen who had arguments with voices in his head attracted attention. 

Not-Yet-Venomous, ever socially adept and concerned with appearances, caught on quickly. He stopped mentioning it. It was a childhood game he had outgrown. Shadowy went silent. The cover story wasn’t enough to ease his fear of school counselors and child psychologists. 

Shadowy never felt too bad about cutting contact. By then, his feelings about his friend were already starting to go sour. By the time they were teens, Shadowy had grown to despise him: he didn’t just lie; he was _fake,_ all the way through. He hollowed out parts of himself to pander to other people.

The first time Shadowy realized just how much control he had over the mechanics of their psyche, he was ecstatic. The inner world didn’t come with instructions. It had to be mastered by trial and error— and Shadowy’s years of spending his time focusing inward gave him a distinct advantage over Venomous in learning the rules. 

He could stay awake when Venomous was asleep. He could rifle through Venomous’ memories while concealing his own. And he didn’t just have to wait to be pulled into the world; he could choose when it happened! With these tools, he could take control of his life— and he could even steer the course from safely within the comfort of his hiding place. 

He only ever came out at night, when he had a choice— that was when he could do what he wanted, and he wasn’t beholden to anyone else. He got very good at sneaking out and not getting caught. 

Getting into places where he wasn’t allowed to go became a game. He had never been blessed with social graces, but for the first time he found himself learning to charm, bluff, and misdirect his way out of trouble. He learned when to run and when to play dumb. He talked circles around hapless security guards who caught him, and they just let him walk right out. 

They were still young enough that they could be awake for a full twenty-four hours without taking it too hard, but in hindsight, it was obvious they were already sick. Even people with bad habits weren’t supposed to hurt that much, to crash that hard— but their power compensated for it, and they both pushed their limits farther and farther. 

The way they lived would have damaged even a healthy person eventually. Shadowy often wondered if things would be better today if they had realized before it was too late. 

Probably not. He wouldn’t have stopped; it was the only thing that made life bearable. He got the feeling Venomous would say the same about his studies and athletics.

Things were tolerable for a while. They graduated. 

The hero Laserblast was born, and he found his place in POINT. He was beneath contempt, but access to his knowledge and identity was more useful than ever before. There were a lot of places you could get into with POINT security clearance.

Their intellectual pursuits were among the few interests they still had in common. Laserblast’s work was genuinely interesting. Unfortunately, his motivation was insipid. 

There was nothing wrong with their power. It was perfect: practical, brutally efficient, and it even treated their condition at the same time. Imagine what they could do if they found a way to enhance it! But Laserblast just wanted what everyone else had. 

_‘Boo hoo, I can’t believe I can drain the strength of everything around me and use it for myself. How terrible. It’s not fair that I have to use my **energy vampirism** in order to punch good. If only I had a simple, boring power instead of this extremely cool one.’_

That vapid airhead ruined everything.

Losing their powers felt like losing a chunk of his head. It was taking an extra step at the top of the staircase, except instead of just being startled he kept falling forward forever into nothing. Something important had been torn out and thrown away, and now Shadowy couldn’t even remember what it looked like.

He went away. It wasn’t a choice, it was necessary; he couldn’t do anything else. It was like trying to throw water out of a sinking ship with nothing but his own hands, but the ship was himself and so was the water— he was a fractured mess, and the screaming splinters of his own being slipped through his fingers. He barely remembered that time at all.

Well. He supposed he remembered now what it had been like for _Venomous_.

Shadowy was still disoriented when the experiment brought him back. He hadn’t put himself back together; he was just thrown into the world still in pieces. It was a miracle he didn’t wreck the whole lab in his confusion.

The next few months were messy. His faculties returned to him in fragments, and he pieced together what had happened by searching through his surroundings. It took nearly a year to feel like himself again, and he still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was irrevocably different. 

Shadowy considered that maybe this new Professor Venomous persona would be better than Laserblast— and then he realized that he didn’t care. 

Shadowy hated him. 

When Venomous was miserable, Shadowy was irritated. When he was complacent, Shadowy was angry. When he found authentic joy, Shadowy was murderous. 

Venomous made one inept mistake after another, but somehow the world kept rewarding him for it. Ungrateful, worthless, undeserving. Shadowy was boiling alive inside his own skull. He hated him, hated him, hated him, hated him.

That was when Shadowy knew what he wanted. He finally understood why he was still here. New power was new purpose: _‘Thanks for the consolation prize! I’m going to make you wish you’d never been born.’_

Finding out they had a son was a surprise, but realizing the child took after him as much as Venomous pulled the rug right out from under Shadowy’s feet.

He had never actually met another person like himself before. The idea fascinated him. Venomous’ family had never been _his_ family, not really, but maybe this could be.

The boy became the perfect linchpin for his plan— or so he thought. 

In the end, it wasn’t enough. Victory turned to ashes in his mouth, and Shadowy lost the only things he had left. TKO turned on him, ripping his purpose out by the root and leaving only crumbling fissures behind.

The failure was shattering. Maybe he should have died after all. 

It was easier to rebuild himself than the first time. He hadn’t wanted to. Organized thought returned, and he cursed it. Once he was truly conscious, he had no choice but to start the process. It was oppressively boring to be an awareness with nothing to keep himself occupied. He put himself back together in agonizingly slow gradual increments.

He started building his house before he had even finished fixing himself. That was when he began to create for the first time: things he really wanted, that would last. As a child, he often built little worlds for their games— but they were flimsy, whimsical things that could be swept away as soon as the games were finished. In later years, he ignored the appearance of his internal surroundings entirely, only creating objects that served a specific utilitarian purpose. 

It hurt to exist and feel and want, but creation gave him something. He could make his own world that belonged to only him. None of his mistakes had to matter.

He wasn’t sure how long he spent like that. Time didn’t mean anything where he was. He was perfectly contained with total control, free to do whatever he wanted, and no one could stop him or take it from him.

Looking outside again had been a mistake. He could never unflip that switch. 

The idea of living alone in a dollhouse for the rest of his life while Venomous enjoyed his happy ending made Shadowy want to rip his face off.

And so he had no choice but to set about constructing a plan that would reconcile his disparate wants. It wasn’t that hard— why couldn’t he have a whole family to raze the world alongside him? Was that really any different than the original idea? He and Boxman could reign over everything together. Their children could live like kings.

He didn’t know what he wanted after that, and that unnerved him. The ending had always been what he was most sure of. Now there was a seed of doubt whispering possibilities in his ear: what if it didn’t have to go out with a bang? What if they just kept going? What if he could live that way, after all? What if Shadowy Figure, the thing that wanted, could finally be satisfied?

One thing was certain, at least: he had no interest in making peace with Venomous. He’d extended an olive branch and had it slapped out of his hands, just as expected, and he couldn’t be happier.

There had to be a way to get rid of him. 

Boxman acted like he was stuck with Shadowy, like there could only ever be two, but he was making excuses. He hadn’t thought it was impossible when he thought Shadowy was already dead. He _knew_ it could be done. 

Venomous didn’t talk to KO, had barely spoken to him at all outside the context of villainy, but they saw him. There was no way Boxman hadn’t noticed.

There was no TKO anymore. Shadowy could tell. He didn’t know how, or what had been done to him, but it had to be true. There was no more nervous whispering of his name, no warnings from KO’s friends not to unleash him. KO wielded his power and went about his life like it was nothing.

Shadowy wanted to believe he was hiding, just like he had been, but surely that was wishful thinking— TKO had never been one for restraint and biding his time. 

That was why they had assumed Shadowy would never come back. They’d seen it happen before. 

Shadowy had learned what loss felt like, and he could recognize it now. He could put a name to fear.

He stopped looking. 

He made a point of keeping the next few weeks quiet and of being a polite, generally unobjectionable houseguest. He had waited for years. He could take a little longer.  
  


* * *

Having permission to move openly through the house did not stop him from sneaking.

Shadowy loved the sounds of his footsteps echoing in a storm drain. He loved the old metal and the shine of the cool wet concrete. He felt a little wistful every time he crossed the threshold into his hiding place and all of that disappeared, but it couldn’t be helped. The environment needed to be kept warm, dry, and well ventilated.

He could feel the bird’s quick little heartbeat in his hands.

Originally, Shadowy had intended to collect his specimens from the songbirds that lived in the area directly surrounding the house. Not yet accustomed to life without powers, he had been in for a rude awakening as to how difficult it was to catch birds with your bare hands. 

After a few days of pitiful failure and falling flat on his face, he concluded that stealing domestic fowl might be a better use of his time. He quickly learned that he had also underestimated just how hostile a group of threatened chickens could be. He had never been more grateful to dress the way he did— serious injuries would have blown his cover. There was only so much chicken-related damage Venomous could sustain before it stopped being something Boxman could believably do in his sleep.

The solution had come to him by chance, when Venomous drove up to the city.

Pigeons. 

It was so obvious. They were everywhere, and they barely registered people as threats at all. They thought you were a noisy mobile food dispenser, not a predator. You could practically just take them. And who was going to get mad at you if they saw, really? People thought they were pests. It was free birds.

He placed the pigeon gently into the isolation pen and closed the door. It shot out of his hands like a rocket as soon as he let go. The other birds in the loft across the way fluttered nervously at the arrival of their future companion.

He was getting close to the point where he could maintain the population through breeding alone, but he still felt like he needed more. They were social, right? He couldn’t make an automated bird friendship system like he could with feeding and watering. It was so hard to meet the needs of normal, non-mutant animals. 

The engineered specimens were perfect little monsters. He could only have one at a time, or else they’d dedicate their entire tiny lives to breaking out of their cages and trying to eat each other. He understood them implicitly.

It had been easy to fill his lab with equipment. What kind of mad scientist kept careful inventory of every piece of glassware or bunsen burner they owned, or tracked their supply of every chemical down to the mililitre? The answer was “definitely not the kind who lived with Lord Boxman, walking lab accident.”

The autoclave had been one of the harder acquisitions— his attempts to build his own from pilfered parts had been more explosive than intended. Thankfully, Venomous rarely checked his credit statements closely, so in the end Shadowy had gotten away with ordering one new.

His little living space was comfortably furnished. There were always plenty of small things around the house nobody would miss, or bigger things packed away in boxes that had long since been forgotten. 

He was proud of what he had built. The place was more than nice enough to keep using, even now that he had access to the house. It was good to be able to keep Boxman and Venomous out of his things in a way they couldn’t keep him out of theirs.

Checking in with the turbo-pigeon was always the best part of his maintenance routine. He loved that horrible animal. It might have hated him, or maybe it was just aggressive by default. He couldn’t actually tell. It was great.

“Hey, precious,” Shadowy cooed as he entered the containment tunnel. The bird made a sound like a furious garbage disposal and gnashed its serrated teeth against the thick wire of the enclosure. It was much bigger than the other birds, comparable in size to a large housecat, and its tufted white feathers crackled with purple energy. 

Generally, the most important part of this task was replacing anything in the inner pen that had been broken. It was usually a lot of things. There needed to be plenty of toys and fun objects to destroy so it wouldn’t start wrecking its own automated care systems, and any damaged items that might be hazardous needed to be removed. The pigeon bobbed back and forth belligerently and rammed his shins as he dragged away the pieces of a shredded dog toy. 

The second most important part was breaking out the laser pointer. Not important for the bird— though maybe it was, how could he know— but for Shadowy’s personal enjoyment. The bird dove for the light and left scores in the metal floor with its claws, flailing in its single-minded pursuit like a hateful little torpedo. Being a pigeon, it had weaker depth perception than a true bird of prey, and it made up for that shortcoming by simply attacking everything in its path without bothering to aim. 

Had there ever been a more perfect creature? Surely not.

The pigeon strutted vigorously around the pen as he cleaned the floor, filling the air with its blood-curdling cooing and occasionally slapping Shadowy with its wings if he came too close. 

Once he had checked all the machines to make sure they were still operational, he was done for the day. He tossed the bird a treat— which it devoured with great zeal — and dusted off his hands, satisfied. 

He wanted to see Boxman.  
  


* * *

He slipped into the house through the vent that led into Venomous’ office. It was one of many entrances, but it was also specifically the one where Boxman was least likely to be immediately on the other side. Even if he was looking for Boxman anyway, Shadowy preferred to see other people before they saw him.

He moved through the house methodically, sticking to places he knew would be least visible to someone of Boxman’s height. It didn’t take him very long to find his target. 

Shadowy peeked around the doorframe into the living room. He could see that Boxman was sitting on the couch— and thankfully it was the one that _wasn’t_ directly facing the door. There was a cup of herbal tea steeping on the end table to his left. The TV was on, playing what appeared to be a nature documentary about the wildlife of the northern Danger Zone, but the volume was turned down low, and Boxman didn’t seem to be watching it. Double Beat snored peacefully from her bed in the corner. 

The coffee table was strewn with evidence of multiple simultaneous tasks. Pens, pencils and various other drawing tools were scattered everywhere, including the floor. They had been used, so far as Shadowy could tell, for a partially filled-in crossword puzzle, and roughly a dozen sketches of a giant robot mole. Beneath all that was a large map of the nearest commercial centre, painstakingly marked up with notes. 

There was sweat beading on Boxman’s forehead. He was staring at his phone with that subtle frown he always got when he focused, tongue peeking out slightly in concentration. The corners of Shadowy’s mouth twitched upward. 

He was beautiful. 

It was so annoying.

Shadowy sunk down to all fours, feeling a defensive desire to be as close to the ground as possible. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and gripped the carpet. He felt the texture of the fibres between his fingers.

He knew by now that Boxman didn't like it when he imitated Venomous' mannerisms. He didn't seem to like his formal posture, either. Boxman always seemed a little uneasy, but when Shadowy stood up straight, he looked like he wanted to bolt. 

It didn't make much sense— that was the profile that was supposed to go over well in social situations. People respond positively to correct posture. It feels more trustworthy. Shadowy had tested it.

Still, he could adapt. If Boxman was more comfortable when he didn't bother with polite body language or ingratiating speech, who was he to complain about less work?

It was more difficult now, when he had no ability to hover and his joints screamed when he bent too far, but the crawling and slithering movements he had always used when alone were still natural and familiar.

He crawled over the arm of the couch and settled in next to Boxman, coiling around him indulgently. The flinch he got in response was less pronounced than he had expected, but he could hear him straining to contain an exclamation.

“Hi,” Shadowy said coyly. 

Boxman took a moment before speaking. “Hi.” His voice came out like a strained squawk. 

Shadowy pressed his cheek into Boxman’s arm. He could feel his pulse. “You're warm,” he murmured. He turned his head to rub against Boxman’s shoulder, and scowled as he felt a sharp twinge in his neck. “Everything hurts,” he announced sorrowfully. “All the time.”

“Oh.” Understanding dawned on Boxman’s face. He exhaled a wheezy, nervous laugh. “Yeah, I guess just recently is the first time you've had to deal with it without powers to compensate, huh? And you are older now.” He disentangled himself from Shadowy’s embrace and set his phone down, already having lost the game he was playing.

Shadowy growled. “I want to gouge out this worthless nervous system, piece by piece, and set it on fire.”

Boxman laughed more genuinely this time. "You really do have a way with words,” he said. 

Shadowy didn’t find it particularly funny. His voice was surly. “Maybe if _someone_ didn’t insist on wearing heels all the time, our leg joints wouldn’t be busted garbage.”

“You know—” Boxman lifted a hand hesitantly, seemed to reconsider, and put it back down again. “We do have various things that can help you get around.”

Shadowy already knew what he was referring to. “No.”

Boxman’s smiled kindly and wrung his hands. “Hey, I get it. PV was stubborn about it at first, too. I think that’s actually pretty common!” He brought his hand up more confidently this time, reaching around Shadowy to give his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. 

“Even once he started using them, always pushing his luck. You know what I’m talking about; assuming he’s fine, leaving the cane upstairs—” He chuckled and rolled his eyes. “And then of _course_ he ends up just _sitting around,_ because he doesn’t feel well enough to go back up. That’s why I installed lifts in—”

Shadowy snapped at him. “Stop that.” He bared his teeth. “Stop pitying me right now.”

Boxman blinked owlishly. “I’m not—”

“It’s not about my pride, dirt for brains,” Shadowy said irritably. His tone was withering. “They don’t make mobility aids,” he scoffed condescendingly, “for _slithering._ ”

That wasn’t even getting into the inherent problems of maneuverability in all his favourite places. Storm drains and steam tunnels were already inaccessible for _any_ person. By design! What, was he supposed to bring a walker in there? Ridiculous. A folding cane was plausible, maybe, but actually using it meant giving up a free hand— and even the small items you carried had to be limited if you wanted to squeeze through to the most interesting places. 

“If I thought I had use for a cane, I’d use one,” Shadowy said. “I can have as many canes as I want. Make them death canes, that shoot lasers! Why not!” He waved the idea away with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “A tool is a tool.” 

Boxman was looking at him funny.

“What?” Shadowy asked.

Boxman shrugged apologetically. “I guess I’m just surprised that a person created from Venomous’ insecurities would... feel differently about those insecurities,” he said.

Shadowy sneered derisively before he could stop himself. He couldn’t help it. He already knew Boxman didn’t care about him, didn’t even think of him as a person at all outside of the context of Venomous. He’d said as much to his face. That was fine by Shadowy— Boxman’s misunderstanding left him open. An in was an in. 

Laserblast had squandered their power— their beautiful, devastating power— because it didn’t make him _feel_ good. He had resented his perfectly good helmet because he thought he _needed_ it. He would have grown to resent his new weapons soon enough, if he hadn’t ruined them like the fool he was.

Venomous had never cared about power. He cared about not feeling weak, and he would hamstring himself forever to chase away his doubts. Shadowy knew better. Shadowy cared about results.

Boxman was sweating again. “What’s that face for? What’d I say?” 

As if Shadowy was going to answer that. It didn’t matter. Boxman could think whatever he wanted. 

Instead, he pulled his hood back so Boxman could see his face, and gave him a wide-eyed look. “Do _you_ only have uncomplicated, internally consistent feelings, Boxman?”

He would like that one, Shadowy was sure. Very profound, very emotionally intelligent. He was probably marvelling at his unexpected depths at this very moment. 

Shadowy swallowed his bitterness. _‘Why is he realer than I am? Because he says so? Because you like him better?’_

“What if I made you one?” Boxman asked.

Shadowy blinked. “What?”

“A mobility aid,” Boxman said. “For slithering.”

Shadowy opened his mouth, then closed it again. He had no idea how to respond. The offer was completely outside his list of expected scenarios. Electing to ignore it entirely, he turned to look at the TV and let his eyes go out of focus.

There was a long pause.

“So,” Boxman said. He twiddled his thumbs as he spoke. He was fretting. "You wear a corset or something under there, right?” And then he laughed— the strangled, manic laugh of a person who had just realized it was too late to back out of a social blunder. “I just mean, does that make it worse? The pain?"

"No.” Shadowy’s reply was automatic. “The opposite. Like a brace." He scrunched up his nose, re-assessing his judgement. “I just can’t tighten it all the way like I did before.” The question itself was bothering him. He rolled it over in his mind. "How did you know about that?" 

“Are you kidding?” Boxman grinned. “I see PV every day; I know what he looks like. Your silhouette is crazy."

That was interesting. Shadowy’s senses sharpened. "Do you like it?"

"Uh." Boxman furrowed his brow. His mouth stretched strangely, like he was trying to pull multiple different expressions at once. "It's fine." He shrugged half-heartedly with one shoulder. "You can wear whatever you like. It's not really my business."

Shadowy didn’t bother to conceal his disappointment. He had been hoping for a flustered reaction, but Boxman just seemed like he was thinking about something else. 

“I guess I should have known how you’d respond to that before I said it,” Boxman said. He rubbed the back of his neck apologetically. "I don't know if I should be letting you flirt with me."

Shadowy threw his head back and groaned in disgust. He pushed himself away from Boxman and draped dramatically over the arm of the couch. _“Why.”_

“I think you’re smart enough to figure that out,” Boxman answered coolly.

“It’s _asinine._ ” Shadowy rolled back up to a sitting position. He stretched out his legs and rudely prodded Boxman with his feet. “You want me to be him anyway,” he said accusingly. “I have to play by his rules, but I don’t get to have what he has?”

Boxman frowned. “It’s _not_ just for PV.” He smacked Shadowy’s legs away from him, down to the floor. Double Beat snuffled blearily from across the room. “I know it probably feels longer for you, but you’ve been here for maybe a month, tops. After being gone for years. After nearly destroying _literally_ everything I cared about. On purpose.” 

“I’m being _extremely_ fair here,” Boxman continued. “It’s not like I’ve never told PV to back off, either. We’re together because we want to be, but sometimes people just aren’t in the mood.” He raised an eyebrow. “You know that, right?”

He was looking at him, smiling encouragingly. Shadowy sulked pointedly.

He didn’t need things like that explained to him. He didn't want to be Boxman’s charity case, a tragic broken thing that he graciously talked to like a child. He didn’t want soothing words and patient smiles. If Boxman wasn’t going to kiss him, Shadowy wanted him to get angry. He should go ballistic. He should flip the table, screaming, and throw his drink in Shadowy’s face. Anything would be better than this.

“Rrauf!”

Double Beat wiggled excitedly, her entire chunky metal torso shaking. Her tail flipped back and forth enthusiastically in its slot with a _click-click-click-click-click_.

Boxman shifted, leaning forward. "Why hello there!" He held out his arms, and Double Beat leapt into his lap. She rolled over happily as he tapped her side with his palm. “She has lunch in about half an hour,” Boxman explained mildly. “Normally she starts begging much sooner than this.”

He picked up his mug to take a drink and hummed crossly. “Oh, blast. It’s cold.” He stood up, sending Double Beat skittering down and across the floor. “I’m going to go heat this up real quick.”

Double Beat followed him, excited by the prospect of the trip to the kitchen. Shadowy stayed in the living room. He still hurt. It was really ticking him off. He changed positions on the couch a number of times, but he couldn’t get comfortable. 

Shadowy looked at the TV again, for real this time. The nature documentary seemed to have come to a close, and the soft unintelligible mumbling was now accompanied by footage of Pow Cards being printed. He hummed apathetically. He wondered if he still had a card, then wondered how hard it would be to blow up the factory a second time.

He picked up one of Boxman's mole drawings from the coffee table and folded it into a paper airplane. He threw it across the room.

What was taking him so long? How long did it take to microwave a stupid cup? 

He laid down and slid backwards off the edge of the couch, head first so his legs stuck up in the air. He should have just followed Boxman, but it was too late now. He'd look desperate. He sat there, feeling the blood rush to his head.

He picked up on the sound of returning footsteps in the hall and scrambled to right himself. He clawed his way back onto the couch and sat down, trying to look as aloof as possible.

Boxman was holding his tea in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He hummed cheerfully as he deposited his steaming mug back in its place, and then he turned to Shadowy. “I brought you a Super-Strength AcheReleave,” he said, and Shadowy realized the tablet had been pinched between his fingers behind the mug.

“Oh,” Shadowy replied. He hesitated for a long moment. “Well. Good.”

Boxman handed him the glass, then gingerly deposited the pill in his other palm. Shadowy took the medication and waited for it to work.

Boxman began clearing objects off the table until he was finally able to fold up the map and put it away. Once it was clear, he returned with a few of his mole drawings, some blank paper, and a single mechanical pencil, all of which he laid out on the table. When he was satisfied with the arrangement, he sat down. He picked up his mug and took a swig.

Shadowy watched. He pursed his lips in consideration.

“You still think I’m hot, right?”

Boxman splurted a mouthful of tea down the front of his shirt and onto one of his pant legs. He coughed furiously, thumping his chest.

Shadowy was still watching expectantly. He flicked his tongue, tasting the air.

Boxman finished spluttering and wiped his eyes. He cleared his throat and made some very unpleasant hacking noises until he was finally able to choke out a halting sentence. “You are— physically identical. To the man I married.”

Shadowy’s eyes narrowed. He flicked his tongue again. 

Boxman blinked at him through tears. He was picking up on the unfavourable reaction, whether he could see or not. He coughed some more. The tepid atmosphere was becoming increasingly antagonistic by the second. He sighed, defeated. “Yes.”

Unbothered by the lack of enthusiasm, Shadowy relaxed. He reclined languidly into the cushions and rested his cheek on the back of one hand with a smarmy smile. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He acted out haughtily examining the nails on his other hand, despite very clearly wearing gloves. 

“Unbelievable,” Boxman said flatly. “Nearly kill me and you’re preening.”

Shadowy’s cackle degenerated into delighted animalistic chittering as Boxman stood up and left the room in search of towels. Sometimes it was the little things that could make or break his mood. They proved he could still affect the world in some small way, even with all the control he had lost.

Shadowy jumped as Double Beat pushed her nose into his pant leg, snorting demandingly.

He stared down at her. She looked back at him with wide, pleading eyes.

He always wondered how much she understood. She never seemed to pay him much mind. Did she grasp that he and Venomous were different? Had Shadowy Venomous been a third, separate stranger to her, or were they all one and the same? 

He slowly reached down and wrapped his hands under her belly, pulling her into his lap. She curled up almost immediately. The sound of her tail was slow and rhythmic like a metronome.

She could never answer his questions, and he decided he preferred it that way. He awkwardly patted her on the head, lifting his entire arm up and down. 

Animals could be difficult, even robotic ones, but they were still easier than people.

When Boxman returned, he was wearing a different set of clothes. He had traded the pants for an identical pair, but the stained white dress shirt had been replaced with a simple cotton tank-top. He laid the towels over the spill on the cushions, firmly pressing down to absorb as much as possible.

Boxman sat on the floor next to the coffee table instead of retaking his seat on the couch. He returned to work on his sketches.

Shadowy rubbed behind Double Beat’s ears, wondering if she could actually feel it. He watched Boxman draw a mole nearly identical to one he had already set aside, but with angry eyebrows and a little hat.

The pencil scritched against the page. Neither of them spoke for at least a full minute. Double Beat’s tail kept time like a clock.

Shadowy broke the silence first. “Why does it even matter what he thinks?”

Boxman slapped the pencil back down on the tabletop with a sharp clack of plastic on wood. “Will you give it a rest already?” he demanded. “You can keep rephrasing the same questions as much as you want, but you’re not getting anywhere.”

He stood up. He took Shadowy by the wrist, gentle but firm, and slipped his fingers under the cuff of his glove. It peeled away, and Shadowy cradled his bare hand to his chest. Double Beat sneezed in protest at being jostled from her resting place.

Tossing the glove aside, Boxman held up his own hand. He gestured to the ring on his finger. Shadowy just boggled at him, confused and vaguely offended.

“I wouldn’t give one of these," Boxman said curtly, “to someone whose opinion I didn’t respect.”

Shadowy slowly moved his hand out from his chest and looked down at it. The ring’s soft shine flickered as it reflected the light of the TV. He glanced dubiously back and forth between his hand and Boxman’s, then put it down on the couch beside him. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. He was ogling his own appendage like he’d just realized for the first time that it existed.

“I’m sure you’re very confident in your powers of manipulation, but you aren’t actually very convincing to anyone older than twelve,” Boxman said drily. His voice went hard. “He doesn’t count. You literally live in his brain.”

Shadowy wouldn’t have been able to formulate the jab right now even if Boxman hadn’t cut him off. He was mystified. He hadn’t thought about Venomous’ ring at all. He always manifested with gloves already on. He tried to remember the last time he’d actually taken them off in the real world, and failed. 

He really shouldn’t be this taken aback. He didn’t know why he was so hung up on it! It wasn’t even important. He had just assumed the ring would always be taken off before Venomous went to sleep, and hadn’t even considered that it might not always be the case. Of course it wouldn’t— the man fell asleep out of bed all the time, Shadowy _knew_ that.

He put his glove back on. He could feel the ring burning on his hand. He looked up at Boxman again and tried to think of something intelligent to say. 

“Well,” he floundered. “We should probably go feed the dog.”

**Author's Note:**

> Projected number of chapters is around 8-10, of variable length. Thanks for reading.


End file.
